A Favour
by Doom-CookieOG
Summary: This is where I keep my BBRae filth. You're welcome to burn with me.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: If I did own this the show would still be on the air -_-**

 **A Favour**

She didn't know what she was doing there. Sitting in the tiny, uncomfortable, wire chair next to the bed in the medical bay long after everyone else decided to turn in. Just sitting, staring at the green boy who'd been the bane of her existence for the past few months. The one whose room she'd snuck into every night since they first kissed almost seven months back, just to talk and play stupid games and sleep… just the things she wasn't ready to let the rest of their housemates know she liked doing—with him—yet. Just the things she'd love to be able to do with him all the time, but was too afraid to. The things she wasn't quite ready for.

But here she was, sat with her legs curled under her body staring at his sleeping form, eyeing the bandages around his ribs and chest, the cast on his right leg and listening to his steady breathing and the incessant ticking of all the monitors and machines he was hooked up to. Vic had said that most of them weren't as daunting as they looked and he wasn't hurt that badly, that it was mostly just precautionary, but still. _How did this happen?-_ she thought, tears unconsciously slipping down her cheeks as she hugged her body against the steady flow of warm air that wafted through the vents. Perhaps it was just her body that had gone cold.

It was just like any other day, a chill, perfectly fine day; Star and Cyborg were lifting weights in the gym some floors down, Gar and Robin were sparring on the course outside and Raven had been meditating. That's right, perfectly chill until the alarm rang out and they had to suit up again because H.I.V.E initiated another attack on one of the smaller banks in Jump City. It seemed easy enough as they'd taken out Mammoth, Jinx and Gizmo countless times before, but this time, the pink-haired sorceress had gotten the better of Raven and collapsed a building—a soon-to-be-demolished, skeletal frame of a building -on top of her. Only it hadn't crushed her like it was intended to. Out of nowhere, Beast Boy had pushed her out of the way, taking the entire brunt of the attack, concrete and steel beams crashing down on top of him, while she escaped with minor bruises and cuts.

It was hard for her not to cry in front of them because the last thing she wanted was for him to get hurt—it was hard for her to cry period, despite Trigon's influence being practically non-existent, she still had problems with that- so instead she took care of Jinx and cursed his unconscious form in the dead of night when they got back to the tower. _Why? How could he be so stupid?_ But she was stupid for asking why because she already knew. He'd told her. Now she just sat there, counting the seconds between the rise and fall of his chest and silently crying and stopping herself alternatively when she couldn't remember if that was what crying was supposed to sound like.

Sometime later, after her eyes were done with their pathetic little show and her nose was runny and numb, she peeled herself off the small chair; her arms wrapped around herself for warmth and prepared to leave the medical bay when he spoke up.

"Wait…please. D-don't go." And she froze, the light from the moon outside framing her silhouette through the pale curtains, chills moving up her spine as she fought with herself not to turn around, not to look him in the eye, because he'd see the fresh tears that threatened to make a _girl_ out of her. But she was too weak, too desperate. She turned around slowly and looked down at him; the dull lights that flickered on the monitors he was connected to illuminated his face, his chiselled jaw and pale white fang. His eyes were half lidded and focused on her and then she was suddenly conscious of what she was wearing—nothing.

Well... it felt like nothing. A worn sweatshirt, probably one of his if she _really_ thought about it, that slipped off her shoulder and barely got past her hips and a pair of black lace underwear with cotton socks that got up just slightly above her knees. In hindsight, she should have taken the time to at least put on sweatpants before sneaking out. But she was too eager to see him, too eager to see just his face, waiting until her other teammates had gotten into their beds- Star and Robin out on patrol- and were snuggly tucked in, dreaming.

"Come here," he whispered, his voice slightly raspy and chill-inspiring as he eased into the corner, wincing in pain as he tried to move on his own. He hurt like a bitch, but he wanted her next to him. Wanted to smell the jasmine in her hair and the faint smell of soap on her neck; her pale skin that lingered after she showered. The tea on her breath and the warmth of her body next to his. He didn't want her to leave, he'd woken up because he'd smelt her and heard her sobbing silently every now and then. She catapulted to his side to help him while scolding him.

"You idiot, you'll hurt yourself," she reprimanded in a hushed tone and pouting at the small smile he gave her in defiance or triumph at getting her next to him. But she couldn't help it. She wanted to hug him and slap him while telling him that he was so stupid for doing what he did for the thousandth time, but she wanted to help him and ease his pain at the same time. He wrapped his usable arm around her and pulled her down slowly to his side and she placed her head on his shoulder after she helped him move. She was careful of his injuries and resigned to lying next to him for a while.

"You're suffering, aren't you?" she asked after she'd been next to him for some time. His breathing was slightly laboured so she tried not to put too much of her weight on him, but he was still beat up pretty bad.

"Nah. This is nothing. I-I'm fine," he lied, squeezing her hip and trying not to drift off so he could just hold her next to him and feel her soft curves and dips.

"Don't lie to me." She sat up, her hair tumbling into her face, tears slowly streaming down her cheeks, sparkling like ice in the dark. He reached up and brushed one of them away, unable to do anything but that while she beat herself up about what happened to him.

"I'm sorry. But you know I'd do it again if I had a choice right?"

"Don't say things like that." She chided, moving out of his reach, unable to handle the emotions that were stirring inside of her when he said things like that to her. Like she was unable to handle any of the feelings he gave her and she hated the control he had over her when it came to her emotions. She felt the same; she couldn't deny that… she just couldn't _say_ it. Couldn't express it as well as the indifference or annoyance she was used to and so perfected.

"Why? Because it's true?" he tried to sit up and she wanted to scream at him.

"Stop it!" and she did, gently pushing him down and unable to attempt to keep a lid on her tears, her small hands light, but firm on the part of his chest not covered in bandages. "Stop trying to move, you absolute idiot! Why!? Why are you doing this to me? What was I supposed to do if something happened to you, Garfield? Worse than this!? What am I supposed to do without you?! You can't make me watch you hurt!" she dug her fingernails into her knees after pulling her hands away from him and lowered her head, the pain in her head and chest almost unbearable, compared to the emptiness, the void that was there before, just to think about how much worse his injuries could've been.

"I won't," he whispered and she wiped her eyes.

"I won't do it either." She replied, the resolve set firmly in her head and heart, almost frightening to them both. She folded her legs underneath her and closed her eyes, concentrating on the task she'd been contemplating for the last few hours.

She'd never done what she was about to do before—well that one time with Robin didn't really count, she'd only _borrowed_ his eyes and had healed herself multiple times, but the magnitude of the injury wasn't as great- and could only fathom the skill and technique required to pull such powerful magic off. She had to try… she _had_ to. She couldn't watch his pain knowing that it was supposed to be her. Even despite the green boy's remarkable resilience, she just couldn't sit there and do _nothing_. She hardly cared at the moment that it was dangerous, especially since he was conscious and she'd never tried this on anyone besides herself before.

"Azarath, Metrion, _Zinthos_ …"

The green boy watched as her eyes glowed and her hair whipped around her face, her body floating off the bed a few inches as she entered into whatever state this was he'd seen before. And he knew she was extremely powerful… as well as dangerous now. Her dark energy or aura, whatever it was, stretched its clawed, raven-like fingers and wrapped itself around him, seeping into his consciousness, his nerves and muscles and all of him, every part of him coated in her energy.

What had to be done now was extremely meticulous and dangerous. She started healing him; repairing his broken tissues and sewing them back together from the inside out. He felt light and wet and stiff and extremely cold, like someone was running ice under his skin- all at the same time. But he was beginning to feel better, his eyes locked on hers. She was everywhere and nowhere all at once, racing through and under his bones and muscles and repairing the damage done to his body, taking considerable care not to change anything and only fix.

Stitch.

It was tempting to take a peek inside his head… but she resisted, focused on sewing his muscles sinews and gelling his bones back to their original positions.

It was invigorating; heat and ice raced through his bones and crawled under his skin, licking his nerves and setting his body on edge. It was taking a lot out of her, he knew, but it felt so good to be touched by her—her soul-self- on such a deep and intimate level. He felt his muscles ripple from her dark touches and smoothed massages. Raven felt her limbs go numb; her hair fell against her neck as she retracted her soul-self from the green changeling, her legs making contact with the sheets on the tiny cot again. She could barely hold up her own weight, she was so tired. Her shoulders slumped and her eyes fell shut, she felt so light. She wobbled and her head felt too heavy to hold up any longer—she jerked backwards, her body unable to keep itself upright.

She wasn't used to this. The drain that came afterwards. She'd only ever healed extensive damage on herself, and even then, it had taken hours. Days of concentration in her meditative state and not… _how long had it been?_ She was so tired, her body felt like mush and the sound of sleep humming in her ears sounded welcoming and irresistible.

"Raven." The newly rejuvenated shape shifter caught her before she fell over the edge of the small cot, his hand- that had just been too fractured and bruised up to move- plastered on her wrist and he yanked her forward, her body slumping on top of his.

Her eyes were barely open and she breathed slowly. That had taken a toll on her quite obviously. Beast Boy held her face in his hands on top of him and sat up, her body limp and he almost panicked before she moved, placing her hands on his biceps to steady herself—suddenly very aware of how little he was wearing, the thick corded muscles beneath his skin, the strength they possessed and she had to stop herself from mumbling something embarrassing in front of him.

She pulled back and sat on her legs, still very exhausted as he just stared at her, examining her tired features; full parted lips and heavy-lidded eyes.

"Why did you do that?" he whispered, stroking her pale smooth skin with his thumb where her now dried tears would be, staring dreamily at her lips. She was going to choke if he didn't stop staring at her like that; like she was see-through and the only person in the world he wanted to hold right then.

"You know I'd do it again if I had a choice, right?" she tried to smirk, throwing his line back in his face and then he couldn't stop himself. He closed the space between them and drew her supple lips to his slowly, giving her sufficient time to pull away.

But she didn't. She was too busy drowning in him. And he was too. Left heady and dazed by just her smell and feeling an overwhelming closeness and intimacy from what she'd just done for him, he couldn't help himself. The first peck was light and testing. Teasing. To see if that was really what the other wanted, gently nipping at her lower lip as she reminded herself not to fall apart from just that little bit of contact. He pulled back and stared into her luminous indigo eyes, questioning.

There was no doubt there, no hesitation and so he leaned in again, his hands soft and calloused all at once on her neck and cheeks and his breath hot on her cold skin. She closed the space between them with the little strength she had left and pressed her lips to his. His eyes shot open from the shock and the sweet taste on her lips, but he relaxed and nipped at her lower lip. She moaned, her body slumping into his bare chest, unable to draw up the strength to try to move another part of her body and only enjoyed his kiss. The feel of his soft, full lips against hers, his hands on her skin as she tried to refrain from asking for more.

From taking more.

She parted her lips languidly and he slipped his tongue inside and deepened the kiss, her soft whimpers lost but not forgotten on his ears as he teased her. He pulled her nearer, sliding his hands to her waist and pulling her down on top of him, his lips still fastened, tasting the tea on her tongue briefly, questioning and massaging hers with his. Soft and endearing like a caress. They'd kissed before, when their _affair_ first started; small pecks, fleeting touches and such, but nothing that felt like what they were doing now. Nothing that felt so right.

A low, unexpectedly sultry moan echoed from her and he smiled against her lips, taking her soft cry as compliance and pulled her body closer, the sweater separating her perfect skin from his touch suddenly felt like a massive wall, thick and unnecessary.

 _What are you doing?!_

 _What are_ you _doing, Raven!? You have to stop this before it goes any further than this…_

 _But I want it to…_

Even admitting it to herself, _inside_ her head was a feat and the battle would go on for a while until she made a choice. She didn't want to pull away. He was so warm against the previous cold and the shivers that moved down her spine had nothing to do with the cool air conditioning. His hands on her lit fires inside her stomach and she no longer wanted to hit or scold him. She mustered up some energy and brought her hands up to rest on his bare chest, their tongues slowly caressing the others, languidly. Sensually. His muscles tensed and his arms around her tightened, but he pulled away slowly, pulling on her lower lip in a manner that sent firecrackers pelting along the route to Raven's stomach and heat between her legs, his eyes dazed and focused thoroughly on her.

"We can stop if you want Rae." He was breathless and a slight rasp laced his gentle words and something pulled on her core. Something about his voice and the way he said her name then. She clasped her fingers behind his neck and slowly, lazily straddled her secret boyfriend, their entire torsos glued together, fully aware of how much weight she was putting on him and the sheer lack of clothing both of them had. She didn't want to think too much, she was so tired.

"I'm cold… and you're _so_ _hot_." And now she wasn't making any sense, but it wasn't her fault she reason. _What was that!? He'd never kissed me like that before…_ The green boy smiled boyishly, a blush forming in the darkness on his cheeks and pulled her closer, letting her go briefly to pull the covers up around her shoulders, regrettably blocking a lot of her from his view, her legs… her thighs, that seared at his sides. She was exhausted and she needed to rest. As much as Beast Boy wanted to do a lot of things to the girl who possibly just saved his life, he knew that and he cared more about her wellbeing than anything else.

"Close your eyes Rae. Go to sleep. I'll wake you up when it's early so you can go back to your room before Cy comes to check on me," he whispered, tickling the hair near her ear and making her shiver. Despite herself, she leaned in to kiss him chastely once more and snuggled into him, curling her arms and legs around him and inhaling his scent.

"Don't wake me up."

"But-," he began, slightly confused and wondering if she'd somehow lost her memory. She didn't want the team to know about them yet. He might just have to take her back himself when he was sure she'd fallen asleep. But her fingernails brushed across his lips absently.

"I said don't wake me up." _I'm staying_. And Beast Boy couldn't help the smile that pulled at his lips and the heat that spread through his chest. He pulled her closer to him and his grip tightened around her and prepared to drift off with her in his arms and the possibility that maybe she didn't mind that their teammates would find out about them and their secret relationship when he caught sight of something. He took her hand in his, the one she'd used to shush him and turned it over in his, annoyance already seeping into him.

There, on her wrist he could make out, even in the dim light, bright purple and slightly swollen was a bruise. One she'd probably gotten from that fight with H.I.V.E. She was sound asleep by now, so she wouldn't see the frown that morphed onto his lips.

 **Ta-da! I tried a thing again. I didn't want to do these one-shots all separately... but I have no idea how to add another part to the first one. Anyway; enjoy and lemme know what you think.**


	2. Chapter 2

**The Mayor's Ball**

 _Fuck!_ Why had he agreed to do this again? Garfield wondered as he stared about at the dark suits and shiny, expensive dresses that blurred his vision and surrounded him. Suffocated him. He didn't necessarily feel uncomfortable in his well-paid for, dark velvet two-piece, but he didn't feel like himself either. He was distracted and he tried to make conversation, smiling to the younger girls, the daughters of the elites who threw themselves at him, tried to contribute to the funny stories Vic was telling to the little group that accumulated around the males in his group; his family. But it was near impossible. Not when all he could think about was her.

Not when it wasn't enough to squeeze his eyes shut to _not_ see the hurt that flashed in her eyes when he'd said he wouldn't touch her again. Wouldn't hurt her. But he couldn't help it. It had been precisely twenty-four days since they'd last touched each other. Fucked, to be exact. Twenty-four days since he had her bent over his bed and was slamming into her, making her legs quiver and shake and dispersed with conscious thought, making her know who it was exactly who owned her pleasure, her toe-curling, shell-shocking orgasms; who made her scream and drip down her thighs with need. Twenty-four days since he'd taken her and owned her body and her pleasure. And since those twenty-four fucking days, he'd been on edge. And so was she. They both were. Starved of each other and ignoring their bodies' pleas for attention from the other. The touches, kisses and desperate cries.

For some kind of physical connection.

But he didn't want to risk putting marks on her smooth, pale skin again. Like the hand prints on her ass, or on her hips, or the savage hickies between her thighs and over her breasts. He hadn't known he was so rough. So unrestrained and primal when it came to her despite her screams and hoarse moans. It wasn't like he did it on purpose, he tried to tell himself. As far as he was concerned, he'd always considered himself more animal than human and he usually had control over the more… _savage_ , parts of his character, but he just lost it when she was around. And she tried to convince him that it was just because she was so pale, that she bruised easily. That she didn't mind the marks, but he wasn't going to buy it because it looked so violent. Like he'd fucking beat the crap out of her. And he wasn't going to touch her… even if he burned for her every night and it was absolute torture not to close the few feet of space between them and take her.

A small—earth-shattering—pat on the back from his best friend pulled him out of his reverie, and the drink in his hand splashed against the rim.

"You okay, B?" his semi-bionic friend whispered, worry etched onto the still-human part of his face and the green boy smiled, or tried to, at that.

"Yeah, just tired. How much longer do we have to stay here?" he asked, trying to keep underlying irritation and pent up frustration (sexual frustration that is) from seeping in.

It wasn't that he didn't like the parties, the glitz or the glam that came with his profession, if anyone knew Garfield, they'd know he quite enjoyed it actually, the recognition. Or maybe just the attention. But it got old pretty fast and he felt more like an accessory at these things (and that may or may not have everything to do with him being slightly skittish tonight). Something paraded around for a constant source of gossip or whatever. The mayor in corporation with Wayne Industries (who so generously paid the cheque for all of this) had planned this ball for the Teen Titans (or rather just the Titans now as they were no longer teenagers) months in advance, so there was no way they could decline. Richard wouldn't let them decline. So they had to go and it just so happened to fall into the span of time he and Rae had hit a rough patch.

God, he missed her.

"Not sure, but look," Cyborg nudged him, pushing his friend slightly off balance again with his strength to get his attention. Beast Boy turned to look where he had gestured and almost swallowed his tongue.

The girls had just arrived as Starfire had demanded they primp and arrive separately for… dramatic effect. More or less her words, and they were all stunning, their dresses glittering like they were made of precious jewels and almost everyone in the large, immaculate ballroom turned to stare, in awe of them, but there was only one girl his eyes were trained and focused on. One girl that would forever have his undivided attention.

Her hair was loose, cascading in soft, deliberate, almost invisible curls that brushed her shoulder and collarbones lightly. In the same manner, it managed to resemble her hair when she just got out of bed after a _long_ night. Rumpled up and tousled sexily about her face. He remembered begging her to let it grow out even if he _loved_ it shorter on her. Her face, framed and porcelain perfect in the lights. The crystal on her forehead glinted and shone, drawing ones eye in, the same way her violet eyes did. The dress she was wearing was obviously one she hadn't chosen. He thought he knew his girlfriend well enough to know that. It looked more like something Star forced her into and from the timid smile she gave the Tameranian who was grinning, eyes wide like a lunatic, his assumption was confirmed.

He didn't think he would call it a dress. No, the tiny scrap of dark, maroon material—silk, it looked like- that clung and hung off her voluptuous body at the same time, could not be considered a dress—or even part of a dress. She was braless. It wasn't that hard to tell even without his slightly enhanced vision from all the way across the hall. The neckline plummeted dangerously low, almost to her belly button and Garfield swore he could make out every single one of his hickies from there- and the material around her breasts and ribcage was quite loose, whereas it tightened at her belly and hips, squeezing her toned midsection and let down into a beautiful sweep just below her hips. A dangerous slit broke through her left side, going all the way up to her hip and it also wasn't that hard to guess that she wasn't wearing anything underneath. A dress like that just wouldn't allow for any underwear, but simply aesthetic and slack jaws of every person in the room. It was accented with a small, silver choker around her neck, a thin silver armlet above her elbow and one single silver ring on her left index finger.

She was exquisite. Flawless. A little less clothed than he'd liked in public, but he couldn't help but drool at the enormous amount of skin she was showing. Perfect skin. And now the changeling had an even more impossible task of keeping his hands off her tonight. As well as the hands of all the other males in the room, who were now gawking at her, ogling and staring pointedly at her like how he was staring at her. Like she was some dark, pagan goddess.

A Hecate in her own right.

"Close your mouth, you'll catch flies, B," Cy chuckled, he himself staring openly at Karen, who was decked out in a matt black gown that did wonders for her skin. The twenty one year old shook himself out of his trance to find that she was staring back at him, her eyes trained on him, like his were on her and when she'd been caught, she turned away, pink staining her pale skin, and let Star sweep her off somewhere.

Now, the last thing Beast Boy wanted to do was to be that psycho, possessive boyfriend who stalked his girlfriend and gave the stink eye to whoever tried to make a move on her—and there were many—but that was exactly what he was that night. There was no way he could stop, not when she was so… absolute _sex_ personified. He hovered around her and shamelessly listened to her polite conversations—the gentle greetings she exchanged and the compliments she swatted away, as well as the advances she ignored. She contributed generously to every conversation she was invited into, talking about politics without taking sides, or magic, without sounding like a know-it-all, which she was, or history without sounding like the giant history buff she so smugly was and he didn't think it was possible that he could love this girl any more than he already did. Granted, no one was as good as disappearing into the shadows as Raven was, so his attempt at being inconspicuous bombed, but he'd had to try without morphing too often which would draw too much attention. He didn't enjoy the ball and on more than one occasion, completely ignored the requests to dance or make conversation. What was the use, he couldn't keep his eyes off her long enough to noticed who'd asked.

He'd observed her downing more glasses of champagne than he'd ever seen her do, as the night progressed and he was getting worried. She was still pretty co-ordinated—he found out that she could hold her liquor a little while after they made their relationship official and the team found out—but it could go south pretty fast in his experience. Victor made attempts to get his younger friend to loosen up, or to simply go over and talk to his girlfriend- since they were still technically together and never broke up—but Garfield was stubborn when he wanted to be and insisted otherwise. He had no real reason for that though and just thought it best to keep his distance.

For now.

She'd seen him staring at her the majority of the night and if it wasn't for her pride, she would have gone over to him and demanded he take her. She'd already tried that though, (so she was lying to herself, because pride wasn't the issue) countless times before, but he just wouldn't budge. She tried every shameless thing she could think of and more, but the fucker was so good at restraint when he wanted to be (not that it helped anyway. Her fingers could never do what he did to her). And she didn't like it. After all, if the aching and pulling in the pit of her stomach and the thick moisture between her legs wasn't proof enough that just the sight of him in that fitted, soft black suit was a heady turn on then she didn't know what was. She wanted him. Needed him to touch her, or just brush past her—anything!-she thought it might drive her crazy. She didn't think it was healthy to want to be with someone that much and after _finally_ being able to express every emotion she'd once kept locked safely behind the barricades in her mind, she didn't quite know how to put the lid back on yet.

Such a silly, fickle thing; girls' emotions were. Honestly, she barely recognised herself now that the denial about liking—loving her teammate was out the window. He made her do and think things that she'd, before, chastised herself and feared that she might make light bulbs explode. That still happened sometimes when they were _intimate_ , but it wasn't as bad as it could've been had Trigon still been involved.

She tried to ignore it, the lust, but it was hard and on top of letting Kori stuff her naked bod into the heap of silk and silver, trying to ward off the pervy, wealthy men in Gotham (not to mention her disdain towards the city's rather foul, corrupted aura) and pretending she didn't want to jump her boyfriend's bones, she didn't think she could get through that sober.

Liquid courage was the next best, and despite the voice in her head telling her that this was not the rational thing to do, she took a drink. And then another. And another until her head spun slightly and the sarcasm and wit wasn't much of a reflex anymore. It felt nice to not worry and overanalyse as much. Sometime during the night, she couldn't remember how long she'd actually been there, she was approached by a dapper looking, forty-something year old salt and pepper hunk who smiled with all his teeth and looked at her as if she were edible—like Garfield used to look at her and they started to chat.

For the most part, he was nice—granted she was a little out of it- though she found he tried to make excuses to touch her, which didn't sit well with her, but being slightly tipsy and numb; the buzzing made it seem normal. His hand found its way to her lower back, above the dipped line of the back of the—oh fuck it, this thing wasn't a dress- just above her ass and she tensed. Garfield touched her there. Branded her. And if she stilled long enough, she could still feel the sting of his palms, his hands digging into her hips as he drove and sank into her almost three weeks ago. The last time.

"Dance with me," he asked, though to her ears, it sounded like a command and she didn't feel too well about men telling her what to do. This man. She moved away from him, but he towered over her, crowding her, suffocating her, his hand firm against her back. And he was everywhere. She was going to be sick and the alcohol had very little to with it. His other hand moved to her side and she pushed at his chest, trying to excuse herself, but he insisted, placing the other hand on her arm and she couldn't breathe.

She closed her eyes and thought about using magic to get him off her, but the boys—like the overprotective brothers she never had and wished would replace her _actual_ siblings- would make an even bigger scene at the mayor's ball if they found out about that, and she could very well be (she was) heavily intoxicated. He moved into her again, assaulting her with his pungent aura that seemed to be horribly dull and excruciatingly bright at the same time and unreservedly expensive cologne and she stilled, frozen. She would definitely be sick. She decided she didn't like him touching her. Didn't like his hands on her. They felt sticky and prickly and made her skin crawl. But that might've just been her only wanting Garfield's hands on her, his attention. She pushed, dumbly, lamely away and moved back, into a solid wall, whose scent alone sliced through the haze and made her squirm with thick, hot need, her back against his pelvis.

His arm came possessively around her body to rest on her lower abdomen, his thumb moving over her belly button and his fingers tensing above her heat. She relaxed into him and let him ease her away from—what was his name again?—he made her feel safe. Loved. And her breathing hitched when his breath, warm and comforting, floated over the shell of her ear and his ivory fang grazed her skin as he spoke.

"Do we have a problem here, baby?"

The man's greying eyebrows drew together in confusion. "I'm sorry, who are you, exactly?"

"Oh, she didn't tell you? I'm the boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?" his confusion very evident as he stared between the two. Raven was content to lean into his arms like that forever, eyes loosely closed but she reasoned that that was only the alcohol. She loved how big they felt around her, though. How warm and comforting he was.

"Yeah. The boyfriend. You ready to go, baby?" oh the way he said that, called her that. Laced with tenderness, but possessiveness as well making him seem dangerous. Animal. And she could only nod dumbly as he took his leave, her in his arms away from the man.

"My hero," she giggled childishly when they were a good distance away. Yep, definitely the alcohol. He pulled away gently, retaking his arm and setting her firmly on her feet, a significant distance away and put his hands in his pockets, looking away.

"What, Gar? What is it?"

"Nothing," he mumbled, eyeing the almost invisible, faded purple bruises on her chest, between her breasts. He wanted to yank at his hair. Because he'd begged himself to stay put, but she was tipsy and vulnerable and for fuck's sake he didn't want anyone putting their hands on what was his! He had to stay away, but he couldn't and he knew he was only using this little incident with the sugar daddy to justify what he did.

"Please don't do that," she begged, searching for his eyes. His beautiful green eyes. "Don't push me away. I remember you begging me for the same thing once. I know what you think Gar," she whispered, moving closer and placing her hands on the sides of his face, forcing him to look her in the eye. He was a good head taller than her now so that was easy. "I know you think you hurt me. And you did—you do but I didn't mind that—,"

"That's not it." He pulled away, placing his hands on her wrists and moving them away from his face, trying to keep his voice low. If she kept touching him, he'd have no legitimate reason not to throw her over his shoulder and run away with her—not even because they were surrounded by people.

"Then what is!?" Raven begged, because she didn't know what else to do. And because she was lonely and horny and felt utterly exposed in this dress and the only person she'd ever loved was pushing her away. Even after she'd bore her heart and was practically dressed up for him, begging him!

"Raven, I-I -,"

"Why are you making this a problem now, Logan?! This isn't the first time you've marked me like this and you know that! For fuck's sake, if you don't want me anymore just say it! Don't make up some stupid excuse like hurting me when that was never even an issue before!" Champaign glasses on a waiters tray imploded a few feet away, soliciting a few gasps, but they went unnoticed as he stumbled. Because he couldn't make himself look at the tears that silently streamed down her face or the hurt in her eyes. Because he couldn't fucking believe he'd made _her_ believe he no longer wanted her. Craved her. _Fuck_! This- tonight was going so terribly wrong.

"Raven I-." he moved closer to her, but she recoiled, pulling away and huddling into herself.

"Just don't Beast Boy. I can't do this," she back away, tears still running down her face, staining her flushed cheeks. And he wanted to kick himself. _She called me Beast Boy… she only ever called me Gar, or Garfield since we've been together…_

He couldn't remember how many drinks he'd had. He knew it was much more than he should have had, but somehow all of them didn't numb the pain in his chest. They didn't make him forget or make it something hilarious he could laugh about. It still hurt and he still felt like shit and maybe that had something to do with his powers… he didn't know, but he needed it.

"Hey," he turned around slowly at the bar to find Richard standing behind him.

"Oh, hey Dick." His teammate took a seat next to him and ordered a shot. He'd noticed his friend and his new fiancée were pretty much attached to each other the entire night and he'd made a point of avoiding his _Barbie Doll_ *. So why was he here? But he didn't ask and the two of them drank in silence, simply appreciating the other's company. Mostly because Beast Boy knew he didn't have to say anything, he knew he'd seen. Richard always saw. And he didn't feel like talking.

A few minutes later, a good while into their silent, male moping session, Kori came over to get her lover-boy, yanking him up to his feet to take him wherever. She looked shocked when she saw her green teammate sitting idly, her large stark green eyes widening and her brows furrowing in confusion.

"Friend, Beast Boy, why are you here?" she asked, her little accent just as strong, her large green eyes _accusing_?

"What do you mean, Star?" Beast Boy half slurred and she pursed her lips.

"Friend Cyborg has been searching for you all night. Something has happened to Raven," she said and a clamp closed down on his throat. He felt like he was suffocating and the alcohol that buzzed around his head started to clear and swarm. _What? What was she talking about?_

"He requires your presence. Near the rooms of washing." She finished, pulling at Dick's arm and giving Beast Boy a stare that said she was very angry and very disappointed at the same time.

"What's wrong with Raven?" Richard stood, spine erect and ever-assertive. Garfield didn't stick around long enough to get the answer.

He hopped off from the bar and wormed his way through the crowd, the only thing going through his head were Starfire's words. _Something happened to Raven. Something happened to her_. And it was all because of him. Because he was being an over reactive douchebag! A massive asshole to the only girl he wanted… in every possible sense of the word. He almost screamed when he got to the more thickly occupied parts of the large ballroom. _Move! Move!_ He wanted to yell and curse and hit something, he was so frustrated. He wanted to shift, but whatever he changed into, he had a feeling would have way too many teeth and claws and wouldn't bother pushing people out of the way kindly. _It would just rip them apart_. It seemed like hours had passed before he finally got to the outer edge of the room and turned into the bathroom. Bumblebee was standing there, leaning against the wall, the dress practically painted on and she jumped up when the green man approached.

"Where have you been!?" but he just moved past her.

"Where is she? What happened to her?" he demanded, shoving the doors apart to find his girlfriend seemingly unconscious, slumped against the wall, in Cyborg's arms. _No!_

"We've been trying to contact you discreetly. Where's your communicator!?" she still hounded, moving through the doors.

"That's enough, Bee. He's here now." His older, wiser friend said calmly, pulling the unconscious Raven up.

"What happened? What's wrong—,"

"She's fine, Garfield. She just passed out. I ran a scan on her and managed to get some of the alcohol out of her system. She's fine. She'll be fine." He repeated. "She just needs to rest. Take her home." He said, ever calm and collected, handing his best friend the girl he knew was the love of his life. His arms extended, he took her limp body into his arms and stared down at her peaceful face. It was his fault entirely and tears stung the back of his eyes.

"It's not your fault. Who would've thought demi-demons could get wasted?" a smile pulled on the corner of his mouth. "You're a little drunk too and tired, so I suggest you take her home and stay there. I'll deal with Dick and cover for you if you want me to," he moved past his friend and held the door open, eyeing the pale-skinned girl in his arms, knowing Raven might not want people to know she passed out, drunk. She probably didn't want people to think of her as that type of person. So he would cover for them, but she didn't need to worry about image with her friends, her family. Garfield moved almost as if on auto pilot, his only concern was getting the girl in his arms home. He moved through the door and attempted to thank Cyborg, but he held a metal hand up and offered a small smile.

He made his way quietly and luckily undetected to the back exit and called for his car. He looked down at her again, her body limp and deliciously thick. She moved then, nuzzling closer to him and wrapping an arm around his neck.

"Gar…" she whispered and shivers moved down his spine at the raspy singe in her voice. Shortly after, the black SUV pulled up, the driver Bruce had assigned each of them eyeing him suspiciously as he placed the very attractive girl down in the back, black leather-clad seats and slid in and rolled the partition up—he didn't want any questions- windows tinted and a small stream of air conditioning and cool air wafted through the vent and he placed her down, her head in his lap as she slept. She was so beautiful. So fair. So perfect.

"Garfield." A strangled whisper escaped her while he'd been distracted, moping and blaming himself—even though Victor said she'd be okay- and staring out the window, pouting like an irate child. She moved, sitting up and squeezed into his side. Her head spun slightly and she was cold as she sat up, goose flesh breaking out over her bare skin. Did she really pass out drunk? _Azar_ , what was this love-thing doing to her?

"Are you feeling better?" the concern almost choked him, stuck in his throat. She rubbed at her eyes innocently, her entire left leg, entirely exposed because of that ridiculous split and he gulped.

"Yeah." She smiled, moved closer. "A lot." She wrapped her arms around his neck and ran her leg along his, hooking it over his so that she was practically draped around him. _Fuck_! How was he supposed to stop himself from doing anything now? She wasn't playing fair! _Fuck that!_ She hadn't played fair since she started strolling around their flat in nothing but his sweatshirts, making him envy the cloth that was nestled so close to her naked body. She hadn't been playing fair when she left the bathroom doors open and stripped to take showers _purposely_ and for fuck's sake, she wasn't playing fair when she so blatantly masturbated when she _knew_ he was around. It was _torture_. Sweet, sweet torture.

And absolute madness.

Because she lay on _his_ side of the bed and touched herself, slipping her fingers inside herself, her mouth, moaning his name and telling him not to stop (because she knew he'd be listening), making the hard-on he sported twenty four seven around her painfully unbearable and excruciatingly difficult to get rid of when all he wanted was her mouth, wrapping tightly around him, milking the shit out of him and doing what he no longer trusted himself to. Not when they knew—memorized—each other's bodies so well.

No. Raven never played fair, she was a temptress and pretended not to know it. Her fingers played around with the hair on the back of his neck and she bit her lip, staring pointedly at his profile in a slightly tipsy, half-lidded gaze.

"Raven," he said, hating how breathless he sounded. How breathless she made him.

"Yes." She replied beginning her sweet cruelty, placing soft, intoxicating kisses on his neck and cheek. The changeling wondered if all of this was merely the alcohol. Or if this was someone's way of getting back at him for something he did. Because if neglecting the siren in his lap was his sin then it was hell to have her hands on him like this and having to force himself not to give in, not to take her. Raven had opened up quite a bit during the time they'd spent together. A _lot_ , actually, but this was different.

Her kisses moved from his hairline to his neck, his jaw, nipping and sucking gently on his skin, the corner of his full lips, where he'd been pouting before. And now he was so glad the driver couldn't see them. Couldn't see how utterly weak she made him. Her fingertips continued to graze and caress his skin; her scent enveloped and suffocated him, forcing its way into his lungs and straight to his groin. God! He wanted her so bad! He wanted to take her right there and make her forget everything else except his name. But he had to resist because after almost an entire month, she wouldn't be able to walk after he was done with her. Her other hand moved down his chest under his jacket. He was going to implode if she didn't stop touching him.

Her hand slipped lower, running along his belt.

"No, Raven." His hand stilled hers over his belt, a firm grip around her wrist. The stable, decisive tone he tried to assert failed and he sounded breathless. Horny, which he was by all means but he didn't want her to know that. Her kisses stilled and she pulled back to look him in the eyes.

"Why?" she whispered. Begged. "Don't you-,"

"I don't want you to ever think that I don't want you Raven. Cause that's not it. I just don't want to hurt you again. I don't want to—,"

"Garfield I don't mind the bruises. I think they're kind of sexy actually." She blushed, her fingers twitching nervously in his grasp.

"What?" he asked in disbelief. He had to make sure. Otherwise she'd get everything she'd been begging for tenfold.

"I already told you that. I get more bruises out of fights than you anyway so it doesn't matter. I thought you just got bored of me. That's why I asked Kori to help me dress up for this thing. Stupid, huh?" she ran her free hand through her shoulder-length bangs and looked away. Beast Boy couldn't believe his ears.

"Wha—bored of you? _No_. Raven I can't get enough of you. You're all I think about… I want you all the time and I don't think that's entirely healthy. And you look amazing by the way. So… _so goddamn sexy_." He paused, his hand gliding around her waist and holding her to him. "I'm sorry about tonight, baby." His fingers found their way into her hair, releasing her waist and he pulled gently, her eyes rolling closed from the contact. She was creaming for him, craved him and he'd barely touched her. It hadn't been that long, but it was long enough and she wanted him between her legs. "I almost lost it when I saw that guy touching you and I tried to keep my distance because I can't control myself around you." His fingers slid to her slender neck and his thumb caressed her collarbone and she sighed, heat emanating off her in thick waves just like the desire the empath could tell he felt for her. "I feel like I lose all my control when I'm around you. You make me feel like an animal. Wild."

She bit her lip and her face broke out into a smile. A small, secretive, smile she rarely offered. "But you're not. You just turn into animals, Gar. That doesn't make you one. And again, I don't mind." She whispered, her voice low and husky, tickling his ear. "I mean you're rough sometimes and honestly I _love_ it that way. But I think you're forgetting how gentle and slow you were my first time." Her leg moved up and down his, her knee hitting against his inner leg. "And the times after that… you helped me _adjust_. You practically tortured me Garfield with how slow you were," she bit at his earlobe and he hissed, his grip loosening on her wrist. He almost smiled, remembering that experience… the way her voice broke because all she wanted was release, but he just kept yanking her back from the edge, drawing her out and playing Ping-Pong with her pleasure. The way he made her indecisive about what to do with herself while he took her without her knowing. And all the shit she shattered in his bedroom.

"Please Garfield. _Please_." And he let her go, his heartbeat skyrocketing and the bulge in his pants increasing painfully. Her hand moved to undo his belt buckle and zipper even as she continued on his ear. He eased up off the seat to help her pull both his pants and boxers down in one sweep, releasing his impressively hardened and veined eight inches.

She bit her lip as she stared down at it. _Fuck_ , she missed it. It was so big, so hard, so hot, throbbing and bulging for her. She hooked her leg over his and wrapped a hand around his base, squeezing gently and barely getting her hand around his girth. He gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw.

"Fuck!" he gritted out when she squeezed again. Her hand moved up his length slowly, whispered touches and stopped beneath his thick head, her fingertips tracing patterns around it. She bit at her lip; his eyes trained on her in a half-lidded, utterly sexy daze as she touched him, stroked him and smoothed a dark fingernail over his tip, smearing his hot liquids over his head. She licked her lips and turned to him, still stroking him slowly, drawing him out like he'd done to her before.

"I missed you so much. But you've neglected me. Starved me. I wanted you so badly and you ignored me…"

" I'm sorry…" he breathed—growled, actually, low and deep in his throat- when she whispered her breath hot on his lips before she leaned down and took the tip of him into her mouth. He bucked a little, pushing in slightly as his hands found her hair. He was so hot. She was so hot, her mouth felt so good over him, he'd almost forgotten.

Almost.

Her tongue swirled over his head and she sucked hard, hollowing her cheeks and pulling him in deeper which was still only barely his head. He tasted salty and sweet… and so damn good after so long. She pulled him out with an inaudible _pop_ , satisfied at his groan of disappointment and licked him from the bottom up and slowly over his weeping eye, savouring him. His fingers knotted into her hair tightly, pulling on the back gently.

"I missed you… so damn mu-ah!" he gritted, as she licked him and then stared up at him and ran her tongue over her teeth slowly, her violet eyes large and luminous and full of wonder and mischief. She was going to make him pay. She sat up slowly, like a lithe cat stretching her limbs, her hand still around him. Her strap slipped off her shoulder and the upper swells of her breasts left exposed. The seductive nature of her, sprawled in his lap, her clothes hanging off and clinging to her, it was almost painful and his dick in her hand was just too much for him. Her mouth had felt so good around him, so hot. But he knew what would be better than her mouth.

He pulled her up so she sat in his lap, straddling by her underarms. Her hands on his shoulders and his on her ass, her heat, inches away and unbearably so from his length. She gasped at his action but was momentarily caught off guard when his lips collided with hers, crashed into hers. His fangs nipped at her lower lip, biting and sucking, listening to her moans as she squirmed in his arms over him. His hands grasped at her flimsy thread-like straps and yanked them down to her waist, snapping them entirely, the material (which barely stretched) straining against her hips, her thick breasts jolting from the movement against his cotton shirt. In the dim light of the lampposts that zoomed by, he could see what was left of the bruises he'd left on her skin weeks before but he hardly cared now. Could hardly think with her intoxicating and debilitating his senses. She pulled his jacket down his arms and yanked the shirt apart, the buttons popping and pelting haphazardly in the cab and ran her hands over his chiselled chest, his corded muscles and his Adonis belt where he held her, hovering over him. She wanted to drool and dropped her head to lick his abdomen, feeling his notched muscles clench.

She missed this. He missed this. Her body. Her perfect, perfect body. He ran his hands over her toned and tight stomach, the sides of her, up her ribcage and under her breasts, over her hips where she had a few extra layers of cushion which he absolutely worshipped and would never dream about it not being there, despite the rigorous training regimen Richard had for her (he claimed she needed to work more on short-range attacks and hand-to-hand combat) and brought his hands over her largely rounded, pert breasts and pulled gently at her nipples.

" _Ahh… hh_ " she moaned her head falling back, her hair brushing her back between her shoulder blades. She was too sensitive… weeks of pent up sexual frustration will do that to a person. Her hips began to move over him, her lips spreading over his length, staining him with her juices.

" _Fuck!_ You're soaking!" he gasped, pulling her nipple harder between his fangs and bucking his hips, sliding her along his length. She wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened their kiss, shoving her tongue in his mouth and tasting him fully, letting him taste her.

"I want to be inside you," came his gruff whisper between kisses and steadying her elbows on his shoulders, she hoisted herself up so he could enter her.

"I want you inside me." He took hold of his length, slid his tip over her moist slit, nudging her hardened nub and watching her writhe, his eyes locked on hers as he spread her thick lips apart and slowly slithered inside her.

Hands on her hips, he eased in until he was completely buried inside her, balls deep and nudging her cervix as she accommodated, melded to him perfectly. She moaned and cried out, her insides shuddering and small whispers of his name and how good he felt floated from her lips. Her fingers tangled in his hair and she began to move. Up and down along his thick green length as his hands dug into her hips, grinding himself deep inside until he was sure she could feel him in her stomach and the driver would be able to hear her scream his name.

He felt so good, stretching her sore muscles—sore form not receiving warranted attention for a while—and she mewled, her head falling forward as he ground inside her along with her own movements. Satisfied was too small a word… greedy. She was greedy. He needed to be deeper, so much deeper—not that he wasn't already—she just wanted more.

More of him as her fingernails, painted to match her dress scrambled and pulled at his hair, grappling for his skin—anything to keep her sane and firmly attached to him.

They kept going, pushing each other higher and higher and closer and closer to the edge. His hand held her chest to his, her breasts thick and nipples hardened against him, the sweat beading between their half-naked bodies as she slid up and down his length, the friction pleasurably unbearable, the other one hooked under her leg, hoisting her up and easing her down over him, her dress thoroughly shoved up and bunched around her waist.

"Fuck!" she hissed and bit her lip, the length of him scrapping her walls deliciously and she bit down on his shoulder to stop the string of profanities that would definitely come out if he kept up. He was merciless, his fingers digging into her skin and his cock twitching inside her just from the sensations; her warm, sticky juices spilling down his length from what he was doing to her, the soft whimpers, pleas and half-screams she let out when he hit just the right spot, the way she clenched around him and squeezed when she felt like she was about to come, making him hiss, the sound her flesh made making contact with his, her breathing in his ears, her teeth on his skin, the hedonistic look in her eyes when he thrust further, her mouth agape in a silent plea for more, her lips swollen and slick, her fingers gripping his head tightly, her abdominal muscles jerking furiously. He was on a high and it had little to do with finally putting himself inside something warm and everything to do with her.

Lust. _That_ didn't cover it and it didn't feel like that was what it was either. It burned and seared their skin when they made contact, their lips when they moved in for sloppy kisses in between thrusts, it was hot and suffocating, making it hard to breathe but that barely mattered. It fogged up the windows, making them crack slightly and made the seats squeal from their movements. It was her. And she was feeding off every emotion he felt for her. It seeped into her mind, her being and she could barely comprehend the want… the _need_ for her he felt in between her gasps and trying not to pop the moving tires beneath them.

She was warm and inviting. Intoxicating and tight around his girth. He kept pounding still, until her legs shuddered, her insides quaked and contracted and she dug her nails into him, her insides pulling and latching a firm, lethal grip on him, a loud, sexy, raw groan wrenched from her gut before pink stained her chest, her neck and cheeks. At her expulsion, he came too, twitching inside of her and his hand came in between them to stroke her hardened, overly sensitive bundle of nerves as she continued to convulse pulling away, shuddering and moaning, her legs threatening to snap themselves shut. He was still hard, she noticed and she didn't know if she could go one more round, (maybe she was too greedy) she was so utterly spent; her legs felt like jelly and satisfied didn't cover how she felt. For him, it was worth the sexual frustration…afterwards, she could never remember why she ever starved herself off such mind-blowing sex!

He turned in his seat and placed her down on her back, still stroking, his expertly long fingers threading between her lips, teasing and blotting her entrance, holding her open and pushing her forward again; on her back, legs spread apart as he played with her.

"Is this what you wanted? What were you thinking by the way, when you chose to torture me like this!? What did you hope to achieve?" he jabbed, a smirk playing on his lips and his eyes going dark and feral. She blushed again, remembering what she'd done, but quickly put it off.

"I wanted you to join me- ugh. I-I wanted your h-hands on me… your help." She breathed, groaned, his fingers rolling and pinching her mouth-wateringly and alternatively slipping two fingers inside her just enough to move them apart, her muscles contracting as he threatened her elasticity and listened to the sound her liquids made on his fingers. She didn't have time to think of a witty comeback, or was too brain dead to do so at the moment. His hands on her were sinful, making her forget how to formulate proper sentences and keep pace with what she wanted to say and could only muster a breathy plea.

"I hope you're happy now Raven. You have all my attention now and I'm going to make you come over and over and over again on this seat until we get back to the apartment. And then I'm going to fuck you until your legs give out and your insides are stained with evidence of me. And only me." His lips were on her neck, dropping wet kisses on her crimson-stained skin between his words.

He stared down at her, her violet eyes half closed as she enjoyed what he was doing to her, her thick lashes fluttering and hovering over her cheeks, her insides quickening again from his brash language and her juices slipping down to the seat and his fingers. His lips played with her ear, her neck, leaving small nips behind as he made his way down her beautiful body, admiring her, the silver around her neck and arm glistening. He pulled her nipples between his teeth. Biting down gently, but hard enough to leave marks on them as she ached her back up off the leather seats that stuck to her, putting them to him, an offering. He kept going though, after giving them enough attention, worshipped them, until the buds gleamed and were swollen and pink-purple and highly sensitive from his ministrations, her soft cries like performance drugs pushing him on, her fingers in his hair. Down her stomach, dipping his tongue into her navel, licking and lapping while she shivered beneath him.

"You're going to come for me again."

"Yes …Gar…!" she cried out breathlessly when his head disappeared between her parted thighs and her fingers latched into his hair, his into her hips holding her down while he ate her out, slurping up everything she offered and biting her gently, making the sound of ripping leather seem so, so far away. Needless to say she came several times after that. Several, _several_ earth-shattering, name-screaming, toe-curling times on the back seat of that SUV alone; that made her seem like an epileptic, after twenty four _torturous_ days.


End file.
